


before

by Alteredgalaxy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst, Post good ending, connor reflects on his deviancy and hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-07 21:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alteredgalaxy/pseuds/Alteredgalaxy
Summary: “Before what?”“Hm..?”It had been unclear if he already forgotten what Connor said, or simply didn’t hear him. Either one was equally plausible. “You said: ‘I used to come here a lot, before’.” A pause, “Before what?”Hank swirled the bottle around, liquid splashing up the sides of the half-empty bottle. It was his second, and Connor had only been sitting in the car for ten minutes before getting out. “Before..” he hesitated just long enough , but shook his head slightly, “..Before nothing.”





	before

> Accessing Memories

> Processing..

 

_> Opening Archives._

_> Processing.._

_> Selecting.._

 

 **> Location:** Detroit, Michigan, Riverside Park.

 **> Date:** November 7th, 2038

 **> Time:** 1:19 AM

 

 

_> Processing.._

 

_> Please wait.._

 

* * *

 

 

_After exiting the car when it became clear Hank wouldn’t be returning any time soon, Connor had made his way through the freshly fallen snow, and slowed as he approached the bench. Hank had been sitting there long enough for the snow to accumulate on his clothes and hair, but it clearly didn’t bother him._

 

 _“Nice view, huh?” Hank muttered, and stared_ _absently_ _into the calm, dark waters. “I used to come here a lot, before..”_

_Connor waited for the end of the sentence, curious how it would end, but it was punctuated by Hank taking another swig of alcohol instead. He lowered his head, shoulders slumped and when it was clear he didn't plan on ending that thought, Connor crossed his arms. It wasn’t important to the mission, but he wanted to know._

_“Before what?”_

_“Hm..?”_

_It had been unclear if he already forgotten what Connor said, or simply didn’t hear him. In Hank’s current, intoxicated state, either one was equally plausible._

 

_“You said: ‘I used to come here a lot, before’.” A pause, “Before what?”_

_Hank swirled the bottle around, liquid splashing up the sides of the half-empty glass_ _. It was his second, and Connor had only been sitting in the car ten minutes prior until getting out._ _“Before..” he hesitated just long enough, but shook his head slightly, “..Before nothing.”_

 

* * *

 

Riverside Park

Detroit, Michigan

Tuesday, January 27th, 2039

1:29:04 A.M

 

The feeling of familiarity returns each time Connor replays the memory, and each time it becomes clearer than the last. Before, he hadn't cared enough to probe further into it, and instead dove right into discussion about the deviants at Eden Club. He had seen the 87% probability of an angry outburst indicator.

 

Now he understands. He had been too caught up in the investigation, too focused on the _mission_ to register why his partner was acting strange that night. He’d automatically assumed it had something to do with how he spared the Traci’s. He understands now, why whenever Hank needs to clear his head, or just be alone, he comes here.

 

He doesn't need to ask. It’s obvious – he was just paying attention to the wrong thing before. Connor thoroughly scans their surroundings; behind them was a children's playground complete with three multicoloured, vibrant slides and monkey bars connected to a pirate ship shaped platform, along with two different sets of swings.

 

Connor’s gaze shifts to Hank; he’s leaning forwards, elbows on his knees with his head lowered. His face is obscured by hair, but Connor knows his expression is solemn. He didn’t have a bottle this time, but he wasn’t exactly sober either. They had just come from Jimmy’s and Hank had already consumed about 32.2 oz. of alcohol.

 

Despite this, Connor wants to ask. He wants to confirm the theory, but he pre-constructs the scenario and observes the 67% Rate of Success indicator next to Hank’s head. He doubts the man will pull a gun on him this time, but he’s worried about the other possible outcomes. He could leave. He could yell. He could use his fists.

 

But going against what his programming thought was the right thing to do, was how he ended up a deviant in the first place.

 

“Last time we were here, you told me you used to come here a lot.” Connor starts, but watches the indicator dip from 67% to 61%. “I think I understand what _before_ means, now.”

 

Hank doesn't reply, and the indicator suddenly goes up to 68%.

 

It was a touchy subject; the first and only time it had been discussed was that night at the Cyberlife tower, but it was a life or death situation. In the months since then, he had known better than to bring it up (with the Rate of Success constantly at a solid 43%) and he knew Hank appreciated his hesitation on the matter.

 

He figured it wasn’t his business. Hanks’ private life – despite his numerous attempts to learn more – wasn’t his business. Cole – a name to a young face he’d only seen once – wasn’t his business. None of it was, and the programming he’d broken free from so long ago would have wanted to _make_ it his business.

 

During the abrupt silence, he notices the indicator rise two more percent.

 

“You came here a lot before...” He pauses. It doesn’t move. “...the accident. You came here with Cole.”

 

In response to the statement he must have been expecting, Hanks lifts his head to stare out at the calm, dark water, but remains quiet. As the quietness continues, Connor decides not to speak, and in doing so, watches the indicator climb. 70%. 74%. 79%. He’s done more with less, but this isn’t a hostage negotiation. He could wait.

 

Connor could allow himself to _wait_. He could be patient, because not everything had a time limit anymore. There was no sense of urgency to complete a task as fast as possible, no repercussions if he simply decided _not_ to do something. He was still getting used to that, though. He didn’t have anyone’s voice in his head but his own.

 

Still, the itch still lingered. Someone deep in his code, in the programming he’d broken free of, was a need. He _wanted_ to have orders, _wanted_ someone to tell him what to do, because he missed the satisfaction that came with seeing _Mission Accomplished._ He needed a purpose again.

 

He didn’t know how to live the life he’d betrayed Amanda for; didn’t know how to be a deviant. He didn’t know how to be _human._

 

Connor looked at Hank again.

 

That, he realized, _was_ his mission. Even before becoming a deviant, he had aimed to befriend Hank. To help the investigation, yes, but over time his odd attachment to the lieutenant had been one of the main contributors why Connor had deviated. He’d risked his own life to save Hank in the tower. That meant something.

 

And in return, Hank had warmed up to him. Hank had taken him in, took care of him and gave him a _home_. He’d dealt with Gavin’s snide comments about android adoption. He’d dealt with the backlash from the precinct. It’s more than Connor had expected or could have asked for. It’s certainly more than he deserved.

 

After all that, he was still here. Here, with Hank. His friend. His mission.

 

It had been approximately eleven minutes and thirty-six seconds since Connor had last spoke and the silence began, but he decided that wasn’t a problem. He could be patient. He could wait as long as it took. That was his new, self-assigned mission.

 

He sat with his hands in his lap and stared out into the empty harbor.

 

But finally, Hank says: “He used to love coming here.” The usual gruff tone was strangely soft; just quiet enough a regular human wouldn't be able to hear it. Connor did. “He'd spend the whole day chasing other kids around the playground, making five new friends each time we came.”

 

Connor doesn't interrupt. That’s the point, right? He observes Hank toy with his fingers through another brief period of silence.

 

“Sometimes we'd sit right here, and he'd watch the boats pull in, trying to wave at all the captains. You shoulda’ seen his reaction when the occasional boat actually pulled on its horn..”

 

A quiet chuckle, but it was accompanied by a slight hitch in the heart rate sensor he’d applied to Hank as a safety precaution. After that night he’d found Hank unconscious, it was better to be safe than sorry. It was also followed by a sadder tone – often found in the voices of humans who were on the verge of tears.

 

“He had a good father. “Connor says after a while. He mirrored the same softness. “So, he sounded like a good kid.”

 

Hank looks up to meet his eyes; they were tired, old, had seen so many horrors this world had to offer, but Connor also saw warmth there. A gentleness buried among it all. The visible crinkles next to his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth were well noticeable, indicating that of a man who used to be very happy.

 

“...He fuckin’ loved androids.” Hank says, lost in thought. “Thought they were the coolest, even though he was disappointed when he found out you guys can't shoot laser beams from your eyes.”

 

“I don’t see how that would be functional. Laser beams ejecting from our visual field would be highly-” out of his peripheral view, he noticed hank sigh heavily, so he trails off. Right. He still has a lot to learn about human speech patterns, like when they were being figurative or sarcastic. With Hank, he should have been used to it.

 

Instead of getting into it, he settles on something genuine. “I would have liked to meet him.”

 

Hank keeps his stare, and for a moment Connor assumes he’s stepped over an unspoken line, but the indicator doesn't move. In fact, it moves up a few notches. He simply stares back, LED whirling yellow while he tries to understand what Hank is thinking; finding it unfortunate mind reading isn’t one of his capabilities.

 

And Hank gazes at him like he’s seeing Connor for the first time, like he’s just realized he’s been sitting there the whole time. It’s a strange expression, and though his natural look is what the humans call ‘resting bitch face', Connor can’t help but observe how… relieved he appears to be. Relieved to have the company.

 

A clear, but barely noticeable smile forms on his lips. He appears to be looking for the right words, but finally settles on:

 

“He would have liked you, Connor.”

 

It’s followed by an emotion he’s identified as pride. It’s an emotion he’s come to like. He felt it that night in the church, after Markus gave him his trust, he felt it that morning when Hank had hugged him after reuniting.

 

“..yeah, the android that never fuckin’ leaves his dad alone.” Hank lets out a breathy laugh, “You two would have that in common.”

 

“Both our names start with the letter C.” Connor says helpfully

 

At that, Hank snorts.

 

They return to comfortable stillness of the night, and though the clock in the corner of his visual field says its nearing 2 AM, he knows better than to suggest going to bed. They’d had those arguments before, all ending with Hank insisting time is an illusion and his body stopped fighting his terrible decisions a long time ago.

 

“You really think I woulda’ been a good dad?”

 

The question is sudden and startles him out of his thoughts.

 

“Yes.” Connor replies without hesitation. “You’re a good Lieutenant. You’re a good man. I also think you.. probably used to be better, and happier, as a father.”

 

Hank stares down at his hands, palms overlapped and facing upwards. It’s moments like these where Connor wants so desperately to be able to read humans minds’, because Hank smiles, but still looks sad. Why did humans have to be so complicated? What was he supposed to learn from that reaction?

 

The man gets up and stretches his arms above his head, groaning loudly as several different bones crack in several different places. Spine. Tailbone. Neck. Shoulders. He wants to say something about the risks of arthritis as Hank follows it up by cracking his knuckles but decides to save it for another day.

 

“C’mon, kid.” Hank mumbles, “It’s late, we should be heading home.”

 

As he passes, he ruffles Connor’s hair – an action that momentarily (and figuratively) short-circuits his bio-components – then mumbles something about how androids will be the death of him.

 

It takes Connor a second, but he smiles. There it is again. That emotion – pride.

 

“Well, you comin’ or what?” Hank calls. “We wouldn’t wanna keep Sumo waitin’ any longer, or he’ll piss on your pillow. And I'll let him.”

 

He slowly gets up, still smiling.

 

“Coming, lieutenant.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You cannot convince me Hank didn't let Connor come live with him post good ending.


End file.
